#inert posting

[nikkisticki]

There's probably not many people talking about Deep Rock on here, but DRG is being put into a freezer filled with meaty tendrils for 8 months (or more) so they can slamjam out a standalone roguelike version of the game.

I think a lot of people were already pretty confused by them having that secondary team making a Vampire Survivors clone, and the board game, but now we're looking at the game that few people are satisfied with the state of as the games best time is long past most dwarves. The best grinds are for Overclocks which quickly run out and leave you with nothing but grinding for cosmetics (90% of which are slightly different versions of beards). Add on that the game is being left on an event which I've regularly heard people say they'd prefer having the robots back (and everybody fucking hated the robots)

The general issue is that rockpox demands specific build types to overcome which ruin players desires as they need pinpoint damage, which then requires more attention and drags down the experience. Robots required heat, but heat was easy to obtain on many builds.

Not a good choice for several reasons, mainly that heavy combat wasn't the main draw of this game and ultimately will fracture it's own playerbase, rendering DRG drained of its more combat focused players on top of the slow entropy of players leaving due to BEING FUCKED BY ROCKPOX for 8 months.

Add on the fact that they are acting as if the ALPHA of this new game won't need continued effort applied to it, which means the main game will slow down even further, thus leading to the same problem of players leaving faster then they'll join.

This is not the way forward to keeping this brand growing, this is how you get elongated YouTuber videos talking about the good ol days. You don't want that.

[unicornery]

I went through the McD’s drive through as is my Saturday Morning custom, and smiled at the window worker who handed me my order, and he smiled back with a big “tinsel grin” of braces, and it made me so happy. Then later I was driving past the Firestone tire and auto service place on Euclid and I could see they had all these mylar balloons inside decorating the showroom. They made me think of a person taking the time to get those balloons and arrange them, just to brighten up the place (or honestly even if it was a direction from corporate), and I remembered the McDonald’s guy and what a nice human moment that was, and I got a little emotional, like legit tearing up.

[zeitghost]

me: "smoking that twisted vizier pack had me plotting and scheming." is that good?

attractive woman with a three piece suit and half glasses, petting my hair and cooing affectionately: really good babe

other attractive woman wearing full chainmail armor and a blazoned surcoat, leaning her head on my shoulder: you're so good at posting babe

me: thanks ladies [i continue to smash my hands weakly against an inert stone slab]

[littleeyesofpallas]

2023

2022

2021

2020

2019

Bessatsu Shounen MAGAZINE[別冊少年マガジン]: Supplemental Boys Magazine

[witchblade]

godwyn is so grrmified it makes me nauseous

[windvexer]

Being that helpful spirits may be absent, here are three ways to facilitate their presence

Have got a few people in the tags saying they vibe with this other post about my animistic views, so here's a tie-in with Witchcraft:

You know how in that other post I say that the spirit of Lavender isn't already present in the physical lavender, and that's why I have to call him? Well three things!

One, what you are doing when you lay a compass opening metaphysical roads and gateways that make it easier and less burdensome for spirits to travel to you!

Imagine you live in a hut in the middle of the woods with no roads leading to it. You could call a spirit to visit you and they could, but it would be a laborious journey for them because they have to hike across the rugged terrain.

But as a witch, you have the power to weave gossamer fairy roads that float upon the air like spider silk, scintillating in the moonlight, floating high above the clawing trees, dense underbrush, and slippery rocks.

Spirits can walk back and forth across these magical roads, making it easier for them to arrive much more fully to you by exerting the same amount of effort. Also, it's nicer for them!

The point of opening roads is to facilitate the movement of the spirits, so that they are not wasting energy just traveling, but may have more left over to help you with, or appear to you.

Two, one way to get Lavender fully present inside of the physical lavender is to carefully harvest the lavender under auspicious times, and using charms and techniques meant to preserve the spiritual power of the plant.

This is wild foraging magic - and it's a very powerful way of gathering and storing power so that it lives with you in the hut, and you don't have to call for the attention of faraway entities.

One way to think about going out and gathering magic in this manner is mushrooming. You know how those mushroom people are like, "wait until the weather gets warm and it rains, then a few days later look under fallen hardwood logs"?

It's the same thing when witches say "wait until midnight on a Saturday and go to the churchyard fence and sing this charm while you harvest a flower stalk."

It's the same in the sense that it's not arbitrary steps you have to do to prove you're more traditional. It's a map to instruct you how to find power that is only present sometimes!

The nature of magic is such that the datura growing on the graveyard fence may always be physically there, but its spiritual power may wax and wane. If you harvest the datura while it's spiritually hibernating (or if you harvest it in such a way that the spirit retracts itself and leaves your harvest inert), you are not necessarily harvesting something of power just because it's not commercially grown.

Three, if I have a really wonderful relationship with Lavender or I really like this spirit and would love to have it be a big part of my practice, I can go through the steps to request that Lavender enter my home and my life as a familiar spirit, a tutelary spirit, or a helper spirit.

You know how we live in a hut in the woods with no roads leading to it? Well I can build Lavender a room in my house so he can always just stay there with me - that room is a spirit house, spirit vessel, or shrine that you build which is dedicated to Lavender and is sort of like a permanent, hardwired road for Lavender to travel down.

In this way, every single time I want to call on Lavender, I do not necessarily have to lay a compass and open a road to call to him. That is because he has permanent access to my house, until such a time as I sever the relationship or remove the shrine.

With a big step like this undertaken, Lavender may then be available to help me in many more ways than just simple acts of sorcery - maybe by teaching me things, protecting and guiding me while I engage in spirit flight, becoming a guardian of my home, and so forth, while in return receiving the support, attention, appreciation, and care deserved by such helpful and venerable spirits.

[satans-codpiece]

8 with screamer pls

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

(Implicitly TFP Starscream, post-Partners. Him sneaking around the Nemesis is so good for this.)

----

You thought you were dying; that someone's finally come to kill the High Command's pet human in an idiotic power play-

Until he was shushing you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him in weeks, months-- you still didn't see him as talons had curled together in a protective cup. Until your demand registered in his audials and each towering rod of metal sprung apart.

"ME???" He hisses, optics wide, lighting up the room in scarlet. All around you, his thin digits twitch with indignation. He holds you at chest height, but even here he makes you look up to see him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm running on fumes out there and-" Starscream's head whips towards the door. All at once the red light that had been bathing you is gone, illuminating dark metal. It takes another several seconds before you hear what had drawn his attention. Footsteps- several in succession. A squad of Vehicons. Were they there for him? You turn back towards him and truly take in his appearance. As bright as his lights are in the pitch black room, they're dim- dim for how blinding they should be with him keyed up, ready to fight whatever came through the door. Worse, him looking away gives you the perfect view of the horrid scratch just below his right optic.

He holds you so close, so precariously folding his limbs to fit into the closet anyway- you stretch up onto your tip toes and reach for him. "Starscream..."

Your fingertips barely brush metal. His face snaps back towards you.

In an instant you can see it, plain as though he'd told you himself. He didn't come back for you-- not that you would have expected him to, he was hardly the most dedicated of them-- but now that he has you in his servos again... The apertures of his optics spin, watching you, betraying more than he would ever want to say. Outside, the footsteps recede.

"I was worried about you." You say, "I missed you." and it's true. When you reach for him again, he lets you touch, your tiny palm against his massive, cool cheek.

"Of course you did." Starscream says on instinct. But the waver of his optics, of his derma means there's something else. Starscream quiets as he struggles to say something with sincerity. Evidently, he doesn't quite get there. "I can't mass displace." It's not what he really means to say, replaces his first-line defense of sarcasm and self-aggrandizement with second-line allusion. It's enough to give you pause- "Have to be quick." and that's enough for you to push it aside.

You nod, instantly breathless. You don't know what quick means to him right now, so you skip the formalities and kick your pants off the edge of his servo. His optics darken at the sight of you adjusting, settling back against the quickly warming plates.

And when you part your legs for him- his engine hums, spooling up despite his attempts to suppress the sound- and his glossa spills from his intake. Slick, smooth metal joints trace up your thigh- and that's all the warm-up you get before he's sliding between your lips.

A gasp rips its way from your mouth- and you quickly cover it with your hand, sinking your teeth into your fingers just to keep quiet. From the heat in Starscream's gaze and the momentary flick of his wings, you think he'd wish you wouldn't- regardless of how tactically sound that impulse is.

He drags his glossa up nice and slow, lets his optics shutter, rerouting processing power to the chemical sensors on his glossa. It's been a quartex- no, two- since he last tasted you and your strange little organic lubricant. It's sweet and so strangely inert, his drained tanks aching for energy-dense fuel, not the delicious strings of proteins you leak so obligingly onto his glossa.

His faceplate is cool when he draws his servo even closer, your thighs pressing up to rough-worn metal. You sigh for the contact, squirm in his palm as his languid licks turn intentional, the tapered tip prodding at your entrance while the base rubs teasingly across your clit.

"Star," You sigh into your fist. He must hear it- because his engine gives a stuttering, half-aborted purr and his glossa pushes in.

With so little effort, he fills you- and your warmth, your softness, your taste surrounds him. This time, his engine's spooling goes unchecked, a deep rumble that rises in pitch- and yet does nothing to hide the distinctive shnk of his panel opening.

You wish you had the time, that he had the energy to fuck you properly. It's been so long, and as nice as his glossa feels pumping into you, squirming deliciously against your walls, it's not the same.

Around you, his talons twitch again- and now you watch his arm move and stroke himself with a pace that shuns the very concept of patience. Heat bursts from his vents, fans clicking ever higher in vain. It's been too long- too long without him, too long worrying. There's no room for the nice, slow reunion fuck you each deserved.

"Close," You gasp, but he already knows. He's felt how your soft, squishing walls keep trying to clamp down on his glossa, as though you could trap him inside that soft, wet little frame-

"Yes, yes," He purrs- voice rumbling unimpeded from his vox. Red light washes over your tiny body as he re-engages his optics, watches as you squirm in his servo-

And when you cry out, "Star!" body going rigid because of him- for him- Starscream's engine stutters, skips a cycle and he moans against your skin. His arm trembles, struggles to work himself through his own overload.

He leans away, his vents hot like desert air on your skin. The light of his optics has dimmed, lowered in the wake of his spent charge- but still coat your body in a garnet gleam, every inch of you painted red for him.

You rub your hand along his, feel the grooves between plates. "Do you have to go?" You murmur, staring up him.

"I'll be back." Starscream promises, stroking your body so carefully with one long, sharp talon. "I'll find you."

[phoenixyfriend]

Weird Egg?

Okay so in theory, Obi-Wan was plausibly on Mandalore when Anakin was born, right?

(this is technically a variation on a few other fics and AUs I've seen, and I'll list the stuff that came to mind at the end.)

While on Mandalore, Obi-Wan finds An Egg while hiding in a cave with Satine. And he doesn't recognize it, and Satine doesn't recognize it, and even Qui-Gon doesn't recognize it.

Which makes it weird, at the very least, and probably rare. It's the size of his HEAD and even though there's no parent around, the egg is… warm, now? He didn't notice at first, but it's definitely producing at least some of its own heat.

So Obi-Wan brings the egg with him, which is a pain in the ass in terms of maneuvering, but they do seem to have better luck avoiding Death Watch than before, which uh. Given that the egg feels warmer when they're getting lucky, and seems to glow in the Force, they think might not be a coincidence. A lucky rock, except it's alive.

Mission ends. Obi-Wan plans to take the egg back to the temple for study in case they just discovered Something, and as he's saying goodbye to Satine… the egg Hatches.

It is a dragon.

The dragon can project words into Obi-Wan's mind. It's not quite capable of complex thoughts yet, but it's a he (probably), and has a name (Anakin!), and considers the person who's been carrying him and protecting him and keeping him warm for the past six months to be his mom!

Obi-Wan protests at this. Qui-Gon decides to make his life harder with the 'correction' that Obi-Wan would be a dad, not a mom.

So now Obi-Wan has a small dragon which will be growing to the size of a house, that imprinted on him and is following him home and calling him dad and insisting on sleeping in his bed

Idk if you've ever read Septimus Heap, but… the MC of that found a Fancy Rock, put it in his bag, carried it around for a YEAR because he kept forgetting to take it out of his bag, and then it hatched into a dragon. And I kept thinking about that the whole time I wrote this.

In Obi-Wan's defense, he does Have A Plan.

Until the dragon hatches, turns out to be a sapient as a toddler (with promise of growth), and calls him Dad.

And now the plan is gone.

He just wanted to bring a cool egg back to the Temple for study!

And now the Mandalorians are pulling out old books about whatever the fuck this is because these things APPARENTLY went extinct around the same time as the underwater dragon-adjacent thing that is the Mythosaur.

Obi-Wan learns that supposedly the eggs are inert until something with the Force interacts with it in a Purposeful Manner.

Which includes "probing it a little to see if whatever is inside is actually alive."

Anakin's a standard western dragon that can breathe fire because Flyte. Also this post.

Weeeee okay small text for the references I mentioned.

Obviously, first up is the Septimus Heap series by Angie Sage, specifically Magyk and Flyte.

The fic series I was thinking of initially that kind of jumpstarted the AU process was Boga Service Varactyl AU, but specifically Kenobi Kafé Service Animal Boga AU.

I've been seeing a couple of dragon shapeshifter AUs, including that post I linked earlier from @ahsoka-in-a-hood, @bubblew0lf1's dragon shapeshifter AU, and @squad-724's Dragon Jedi AU has been all over my dash for the past few days.

Stubborn to the Bones by @tideswept, which was part of what had me connecting the various dots of Obi-Wan Finding Animal Anakin on a mission, though our outcomes are admittedly very different lol. (Their fic is shippy, and mine is more decidedly gen/familial with a slight nod to Obitine.)

[lvlyghost]

I love your stories so much I can't 😫😍😍❤️

Could you maybe write a angst to fluff ghost x reader story where the reader gets injured badly while ghost is on her side the whole time in the hospital while she is unconscious and he's having breakdowns and anxiety and all really angsty stuff and when she wakes up she comforts him and all is fluffy and maybe a bit smutty 🤭

No More Stars Left to Count

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Few things made Simon break down. Almost losing his girl takes a toll on him.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

TW: Smut! MDNI! Angst, hurt, comfort. Injuries. Panic attacks. Grammar mistakes just the usual... Do not read if you're under 18.

A/N: I'm actually quite happy with this one🥹🩷 Enjoy Anon! This is my first time posting smut and in another language so sorry in advance if there are mistakes! Corrections are appreciated ✨🐝

Masterlist✨

Simon's head rests on his left hand, his eyes bore into your fragile body. Several machines are attached to you, helping you breathe, pumping meds into your system. He doesn't deserve you by any means. He doesn't deserve your trust, your laughter, your body.

All he can think about— as his brown orbs can't find the strength to look away— is how miserably he had failed to protect his team. To protect you. It's been twelve days and you still don't show any signs of waking up; it wasn't abnormal for you to not wake up. The damage inflicted to your body had been great. Simon thought for a painful moment he had lost you for good. The woman he cared for. The woman he utterly loved.

He swallows hard.

There aren't many things that'd scare him. He's simply seen too much. But this? Was this truly his destiny? To lose everyone he loved? His family and now you?

He inhales sharply, his free hands traces your inert hand, tracing soft patterns on your pale skin littered with cuts and bruises. That very hand he adores to hold when you were together. He blinks, memories from your last night together flooding his brain as he sinks further down the chair, adjusting the hoodie over his head.

The night before leaving for the mission in Romania.

-

"No, wait look Simon! Give it to me!" You chuckle, under the covers, both of your bodies remain warm. It wasn't unusual that Simon couldn't sleep so he'd often come into your room and spend the night with you. "There." You pointed out. Your hand and his hand stretched out in front of you, slowly you touch his, spreading out your palms comparing hands. Your eyelashes flutter at the mere sight of his big calloused hand outsize yours, completely engulfing it. You splay out your fingers until they're intertwined.

His breath catches in his throat. He loved how small you were compared to him. He wanted to protect you from everything even from himself, but you had refused to leave him when he tried to push you away.

"Come here." He grabs your arm pining you down and under his gargantuan body. You squeal, laughing at the sudden change of position; Simon sets his body between your legs. Your arms rest on his sides, layers of muscle tensing under your touch. Tilting your head back, eyes meet the dark sky outside the window.

"Look at them." You mumble, Simon lays a kiss on your neck taking advantage. He loves the feeling of your steady pulse on his lips. "The stars are so bright tonight." He hums absentmindedly, hands coming to grip his blond locks.

There's a fire burning in your belly and the ache between your thighs when you feel the tent forming through his grey sweatpants.

"Need you, love." He grumbles. His hands undress your bottom half making you gasp.

"Simon..." soft pink lips kiss your body. Your chest, your stomach... until he's lost between your legs. Mouth lapping at your wetness. You squirm under his touch, it's intoxicating. It feels like you might combust. The fire running through your veins, the goosebumps on your sensitive flesh as you clench around nothing. Unable to resist it you grab him by the arms. "You know what I need." In the blink of an eye two bodies intertwined moving desperately chasing the sweetest end together. He murmurs soft encouraging words in your ear that sent shockwaves through your veins, Simon couldn't possibly be more deep inside you, hitting that sensitive spot that made you want to scream, nails digging on his back, surely leaving red marks that he would proudly show tomorrow.

The purple and orange that tinges the sky outside filters through the window, casting an ethereal display of colors around this room that hides away the few moments you get to spend with him as you finish together; feeling impossibly more in love with him.

"It's clearing already." You point out. Simon looks up from your eyes, albeit reluctant to miss the beautiful shade of your orbs. "No more stars left..."

He kisses your forehead, then bumps his nose against you before he finds your mouth.

"There'll be plenty more to count tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise."

But you're not counting them as he promised the night before. Instead he's shouting orders like an enraged man. Heart beating out of his chest, you were so close to the evac point with your squad. Five minutes ago he had squeezed your arm and kissed your temple before urging you to get in the land rover from the SAS. Only to watch it blow seconds later. His heart stopped and then the ringing in his eardrums.

It was an ambush.

And as the rest covered him he rushed to you.

The blood. Crimson blood all over the bodies. He knew what this meant.

"Sergeant!" He forces his body to move, dragging you by the straps of your combat vest to take cover behind one of the vehicles. He knows he shouldn't be moving you like that, but right now he can't think of anything else than getting you out of there... "Bloody fucking hell!" He roars.

What was that feeling, like his soul was being ripped apart...?

-

Releasing a shaky breath, Simon squeezes your hand once again careful not to hurt you. The IV in your hand too foreign. It's too much. The sight, the memories of the vehicle flying through the sky...

The pit in his stomach grows, a wave of nausea and uneasiness hitting him all of the sudden. Simon stands on wobbly legs, taking one last glance at you he steps out the ICU. Crouching down he yanks the balaclava from his face. Why was his chest so tight, and his vision filled with blackness? The incessant ring on his ears is real. Fucking real. It was supposed to be a nightmare... this thing pulling him down.

"Come back to me baby." He pleads in a hushed tone although he knows you can't hear him. Simon lifts his hands to find support on the wall in front of him. He breathes as much air as he can through his nose, tries to blink away the black dots.

"Lieutenant Riley?" A feminine voice wafts through the empty hallway reaching him. He holds out a shaky finger without even looking at her.

"Leave..." he warns.

"Sir? I...-" the nurse hesitates.

"Now!" He barks.

She scurries away but not before calling the doctors and the Captain to the med wing.

Simon stays there until his ragged breathing evens, he then goes back to your room, deep down he hopes—prays— that your eyes will open when you hear him. But you don't. He sits again on the couch where he's tried to sleep, tossing the mask away from him. His throat bobs, what's happening to him? It burns. The door creaks open revealing a concerned John who looks at him in disapproval.

"This isn't going to help anyone Simon." He scolds him.

"What do you want Price?"

"You need to sleep. And for... just for the love of God eat something son."

"Not until I know she'll be fine."

Price sighs closing the door behind him.

"She wouldn't want this." Even then, Price doesn't want to look at you. This had taken a toll on everyone. But Simon wasn't handling it well. Rubbing his eyes he scoffs. "Come on go get some rest I can stay."

"No." Both men stare at each other not wanting to back down. "I'm on leave you don't get to tell me what to do Price."

John crosses his arm.

"I'm worried Simon. I want her to be okay too. We all do."

Simon's jaw clenched, hands balling into fists. They don't really know. They don't know, can't comprehend the extent of his love for you.

"What if this was your girl? Would you leave her fucking side hm?"

A tense pause electrifies the air as the two glare at each other, oblivious to the other person whose eyes are tearing.

The beeping sound increases as your heart rate goes up. Two pair of eyes snap to the sound. Your hand tries to snatch the oxygen from your face, but Simon darts out with dread plastered all over his features. You faintly hear John calling the doctors.

"Easy, love. Easy..." he soothes you. Stopping your hands from moving. Your body is in too much pain, tears slip down your cheeks, once again Simon grits his teeth. If he could he'd take it all away. "Don't force yourself you're..." he trails off. "You're hurt."

It feels like you're body is being torn apart. The drugs are slowly leaving your system.

"What happened?" your croak out, throat dry and inflamed. He sits bringing the glass of water to your lips not before removing for a brief moment the oxygen mask. You take a small sip and thank him with a weak smile.

"Ambush." He explains. Hating that he can see the images all over again in the back of his mind. "Thought I lost you."

More tears well in your eyes, as weak as you feel you reach out your hands tracing his jawline and cheekbone. He closes his eyes, and finally breathes again, with you touching him he feels alive again. He wants nothing more than to go home with you.

"How many nights..."

"Twelve..."

The doctors rush in but before they drag him away you say:

"That's a lot of counting we've missed."

A press of his lips on your forehead, a silent promise to never let anything happen to you ever again. Even if it mean giving his own life for yours. He would do it any day. Better him than you.

"We've got the rest of our lives, love."

[estercity]

......she's getting there

now that i have topaz's lightcone i'm going to go back and rebuild her since i only just realised half her build is barely scraping by

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Dragon hybrids with their first child/how they feel when they see their mate with children

Ooooooouh! I like that! I spoke a bit about it in one of Rhaenyra's headcanon, but having to explain it more is fun!! You are now dubbed the 🧑‍🍼anon! Spicy-ish in some places. Consider yourselves warned.

With their children and mates: A reaction.

With Mates:

Aegon ii:

Listen, he’s glad that you like his kids, but he’d much rather keep you to himself. Thank you very much. The less people know about you, the better, and honestly, having you take care of his and Helaena’s children always sour’s his mood. 

He still leans against the door, watching you interact with both his children as they were practicing music with a nanny. He still yearns for that novelty of a newborn, that warmth he feels when he holds them as itty-bitty things. Yet his duties do not lie with you, and he feels like it would be like dishonoring you to have you compete with Helaena’s children. He doesn’t want his mother to meddle with his feelings like she did with his marriage. He’ll commit to his wife, even if it means having you both hurt from this situation, rather than comfort his mother. Losing you is not a price he’s ready to pay for his own happiness. 

He is selfish and a brat, mean and a coward, but he’ll sleaze his way into keeping you without any remorse. 

Aemond: 

He’d never thought of children before seeing you with his sister’s hatchlings. There was something strange that happened to Aemond when he first saw you hold one of the little twins, a month or two after their birth. 

The one-eyed prince was used to Vhagar cooing at smaller things; many things were smaller than her. But that wasn’t it. Vhagar’s history was well known. She’d had many hatchlings of her own before, and the hole that carved itself in his chest when he saw you standing there with your arms full of a baby, smiling down at the little bundle of red cheeks and white hair was nearly enough to make his wings pop out and wrap them around you.

He felt like protecting you from the watchful eyes of Helaena, who was probably just concerned about the well-being of her hatchling. But how could she even think about you doing evil to the little being in your arms? 

Warm and safe, a wall of scales and leathery wings. Ours to protect, ours to raise. Little giggles echoing against the walls of the castle, the smell of baby skin. Aemond had never had those memories, but they still felt like his. And he’d never wanted something more in his whole life than to give you hatchling to take care of, to see the smile you arbored looking at Jaehaerys toward children that would have traits like yours, but with the Targaryens hair and eyes. 

He stood inert, face blank, all the while you held the child in your arms, never making it seem like his emotions were warring against his own reason. Two steps back, half turned toward the doors, even though guards were posted there already. Aemond would protect his sister’s peace and joy, but also the vulnerability of this moment. Of sharing them with the most precious thing he ever held dear. 

Baela: 

Watching carefully as you played with Aegon and Viserys from her seat, Baela could only smile. She knew of her duty to continue the lineage of her Targaryen/Velaryon blood, and she knew she could not imagine herself having her hatchling with anyone else than you. Her perfect lover, her mate. She thought herself young still, too young to be married; her father thought so too. 

“Baela, look!” Aegon’s cry came to her ears, and she raised her head from the book she was pretending to read. Her little half brother was riding on your shoulder, his little pudgy hands firmly held on some strands of your hair, a bright smile on his face. 

“You’ve tamed them?” She asked her brother, eyeing your form playfully, and you sent her a fake glare, mouthing ‘tamed’ with a roll of your eyes. She chuckled and watched as Aegon nodded proudly. 

She’ll like having children, hatchlings, with you when you’re older. When your names are synonyms of each other. But right now, she enjoys the sight of her lover with her family. 

Helaena:

Much like Aegon, she’d rather not have children with you. She already has three, in all. Her duty is to her kingdom, to Aegon, and to her mother. Much as she regrets not being able to share herself completely with you, she would never put herself and you, much less any children coming out of this union, in danger. 

It’s not selfishness if she does it for your own safety. Helaena reason’s with herself again. Dreamfyre purring at the sight of their hatchling cuddled with you in a too-small bed. You’re retelling a story of wolves and roses. One she hasn’t paid much mind to, but she knows her children enjoy it. 

It’s peaceful to have someone else take care of the little ones. It is peaceful to share their pleasure. Aegon doesn’t keep them close, Jaehaera, more so than her brother, but Jaehaerys is the crown prince. She smiles, cocking her head to the side as she observes her children cuddle closer to you, their eyes fluttering close at every other word you speak. 

Jacaerys:

Having to share you was one of the worst punishments for Jace. But the more he watched you interact with his siblings, especially the younger ones, he couldn’t help the burning passion that flared inside of him. He couldn’t hide how his tail would slither from left to right, up then down, or how his wings would flutter. He could hardly hide the bulge in his pants when he looked at you holding the toddlers for too long. 

Leathery wings hiding you from the light of day, Jace had managed to lure you into his chambers (again), holding you against the wall as he quite literally rutted into you, still fully clothed. His warmth was nearly suffocating, and his kisses left behind them a burning hot trail. He puffed his exertion into your neck, talking to the best of his abilities. 

“Can’t wait. Mated. Let me give you the best thing in our lives.” He pleaded, eyes glazed over by lust, leaving behind marks upon your skin, busying his hands to undo whatever clothes you were wearing. A prince should never beg, but right now, Jace is fighting for his legacy™. 

One of your hands tugs at his hair, and he lets out a wine that wrenches out your heart. You feel him, hard against one of your legs, warm against your chest, his lips bruising at your neck and shoulders. Kiss him back, and he’ll whine for you, pressing harder into you as if he could pass through your clothes. Let your nails, blunt or not, rake against the scales covering his neck, and he’ll shiver, his eyes darkening with desire. 

Laenor: 

Heart-eyes. 

Laenor looks at you, holding little Jace, his firstborn, his wife’s firstborn, with heart-shaped eyes. At first, he thought his marriage would destroy his bond with you, but you kept surprising him every time. 

Rhaenyra was in the room, laying back to rest, watchful eyes gazing at the both of you, but Laenor couldn’t care less right now. He huddled closer to you, looking at the brown-haired child in your arms from over your shoulder, then looking up at your face with a marveled look. He looks back at Rhaenyra, unable to find the words, her work more important than what he’d ever imagine it to be, the fruit of her labor making his heart sing for all of you. 

She smiles back at him, and he pulls you closer to her bed, letting her see her baby, your baby. He’s lucky, Laenor thinks. Lucky to have such a loving mate and such an understanding wife. Such a wonderful family it is. 

Rhaena:

While Rhaena likes children, especially her sibling, I don’t think she’d be that into having some. (As she will be forced to mother her stepbrothers.). 

She’s glad that you are good with her family; it is important to her. She would be glad if you stepped up to help her when Rhaenyra asked her to be the mother she couldn’t be to her children. But I think she’d be even more glad that you didn’t force her to have children of her own. She is content with just having you. 

With Lovers: 

Daemon: 

Daemon would try to give you your own. If you like children (especially his) so much, why not have some for yourself? 

“Of course Rhaenyra doesn’t mind; should we ask her?” He’d tease into your ears, hips rutting against your own. “Would you like her to join in, too?” His laughter intended to be mean, mocking, but his breath caught, transforming it to a moan, his scaly hands coming to grip at your hips, talons caressing dangerously the fragile skin under them. 

“I could father children for the both of you, have twins from different parents.” 

He’s lost in his own fantasy, babbling away, words hardly making any sense as he plunges into you with more will than ever before. It’s your fault, really; had you not reached to grab Rhaena, keeping her steady on her feet as she playfully walked on the stone railing of the outside stairs, you would not be in this position. Truly, if you hadn't, Caraxes would not have taken over and kidnapped you for a very passionate, loving time. It had been something about the panic in your eyes, the way you’d reacted—even quicker than him—to his own child’s dangerous exercise. 

He hadn’t even locked the door. And thinking about Rhaenyra entering on them both fucking (to put it crudely) clothes barely taken off and positioned like animals made his movement sharper, taking a gasp out of your mouth; his forehead fell to your shoulder.

Rhaenyra:

It’s a given that Rhaenyra would not accept you as a lover if you didn’t love her children. Having you actively in their life is something she takes to heart, and she would not imagine herself with you if you didn’t respect and love her hatchling. (See this headcanon for more reference.)

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

List of anon: 👑😵‍💫🥰🧑‍🍼

[nonsscrapheap]

TFP: Universal Observation

i cracked, i caved underneath my own pressure and impulse HAVE THIS REACTION FIC OF TEAM PRIME LOOKING INTO ALTERNATE UNIVERSES! i'm gonna test this out on tumblr in an effort to be more active here.

this is mostly going to focus around Raf, Miko and Jack btw! at least at the start. also! this is set around mid-season 1, when Arachnid arrives at the Nemesis.

WARNING! LONG POST!

Prologue: Shattered Glass - I -

[ ----- TFP : UO ----- ]

Omega Outpost One

It started out as a normal day, a normal weekend, spend some time with his mom in the morning before heading to the Autobot base after insisting that he would be okay there. Jack was just glad that she didn't do anymore impromptu visits to the outpost anymore, and that she was trusting Arcee with his safety without hovering.

Look, he loved his mom and he did still feel a bit guilty over the whole Arachnid situation but still, her concern was getting a bit too much. Even for him.

Anyway, as he and Arcee pulled into the base, he found the others already there and gathered around something perched on the second floor area. "Hey guys, what's up?" He greeted aloud as he got off Arcee, giving her his helmet after she transformed for safekeeping.

"Welcome back Jack, Arcee." Optimus greeted back with a stoic warmness that Jack didn't know possible.

"What's with the crowd?" Arcee asked curiously as she and Jack stepped closer, with Jack bounding up the steps to join Miko and Raf on the second floor. There, on the second floor, was a silver and gold sphere with curved glyphs wrapped around it. It was nearly the size of Raf, only stopping at the boy's chest height. "Uh, what is that?"

Bulkhead shrugged, "Dunno, Ratchet found it in storage but we don't remember it being stored there. Like, ever."

Jack frowned, staring at the sphere warily, "Could it be a trap?" He couldn't help but ask, bristling when Miko just casually placed a hand on the sphere. "Miko!"

"What?! Raf and I already touched it before! So have the others! It does nothing!" Miko exclaimed, patting the silver and gold sphere, making a clanging noise as she did so.

Ratchet grumbled, giving the girl a look of intense disapproval. "Nothing so far. We still don't know what it's supposed to be or how it got into the base. And before anyone suggests, no, we did not forget about it. We catalogued every single Cybertronian item that we brought into this base, before and after we moved here, and I am certain that something like this would be remembered." He huffed, arms crossed against his chassis. "However so far, all scans shows it being... inert. Deactivated, with no clear instructions or signs on how to activate it." He glanced over to the Prime who shook his helm.

"My apologies old friend, I have searched through my memories and data files, but I have no knowledge as to what this artifact is. Or what it can do." Optimus replied with slight apology, though he did look back to the sphere, watching Raf, Jack and Miko hesitantly (Miko wasn't hesitant at all) poke and prod the sphere. "But I do recognize the glyphs on the sphere, it is Primal Vernacular. The old tongue of the Primes of Cybertron."

.: So it's a Prime relic or an artifact related to it? :. Bumblebee beeped in question. .: What does it say? :.

"It says, 'See for yourself, what else is out there.'" The Autobot leader answered, intrigued yet perplexed by the sphere's mystery. "Again, I do not know what that means per say, nor do I remember anything resembling this artifact anywhere."

"Well, whatever it is, it's currently broken." Miko said with a huff, still patting the sphere before curling her hand into a fist. "Or maybe we're not hitting it hard enough! Do something already! It's been so boring today!" She exclaimed, banging her fist.

"Miko!" Jack, Bulkhead and Ratchet exclaimed in varying tones of worry and frustration.

Miko gave each of them a deadpanned look as she, Raf and Jack continued to press their palms to the sphere for some reason. It was just warm and weird to touch, alright? "What? It's not like I'll shatter it! It's not made of glass!"

Suddenly, the sphere began to glow.

Immediately, the humans let go of the sphere, backing away with a startled cry. The Autobots were quick to retrieve their charges and step away from the glowing sphere. Light shined out of the glyphs before shooting into the air to... project a holographic screen?

Words began to flash along the screen, first in Primal Vernacular, then in Neocybex, and finally in English.

[ CONTINUITY SCAN 100 % COMPLETE SUBJECTS ' Raf ; Jack ; Miko ' COMPONENT ACCEPTED UNKNOWN ATTEMPTS GENERATED PASSCODE 'BORING' HAS BEEN ACCEPTED KEY WORDS ; SHATTERED GLASS ACCEPTED ]

"What's happening?!" Raf clutched Bee's hands as his guardian held him close, tense and ready for whatever would happen. It was the same for Miko and Jack who were being held up by Bulkhead and Arcee respectively. Ratchet and Optimus stood before the three bots, ready to fight if necessary.

Fortunately, they didn't have to.

The holographic screen merely stayed there in the air, the text being wiped away for new ones.

[ PROCEED WITH UNIVERSAL OBSERVATION? ACCEPT / DECLINE ]

"What?" Ratchet uttered as he and the others slowly relaxed, enough that the three Autobots slowly put down their human charges. "Universal observation? What on Cybertron could that possibly mean?"

"I... do not know, old friend." Optimus murmured, eyeing the screen with a wary optic.

"If... If it's an 'observation' thing then, maybe it's harmless?" Jack suggested, peeking up at the screen with a look of apprehension. Then he spotted Miko's look of interest, and the smile on her face. "Miko... Miko no!" He exclaimed, trying to reach her but unfortunately for Jack, he was too late. She'd been set a bit too far from him.

"ACCEPT!" The teenage girl shouted just as Jack reached her a second too late, startling everyone and immediately the screen came to life.

"MIKO!" Multiple voices exclaimed in varying tones of exasperation and frustration. Miko merely grinned from behind Jack's hand before her eyes widened and she pointed at the screen.

"MMPH! MM-" She forced Jack's hand off her mouth, "LOOK!"

[ Two humans ran through the halls of a familiar looking ship. The colors a little bit brighter though. ]

"It's Raf and I!" They all boggled at the sight of it. "Why are we on the Nemesis?"

"Wait, when did this happen?" Jack squinted, wondering why Raf and Miko were on the Nemesis, hell, why was the sphere showing this?

"It didn't! Miko and I never ran together on the Nemesis." Raf said, adjusting his glasses as he watched him and Miko on screen run through the halls.

"Why do the halls look a little different? More..." Bulkhead squinted, "... brighter?"

"More importantly, why are running and why do they look excited?" Ratchet questioned stiffly, wondering what in the pit was going on.

[ "Oh chiiildren~" A feminine voice playfully rang out in the hallway, almost familiar rapid, multiple pedesteps sounded out. "Where aare youuu~?"

Miko and Raf shared a look, "Split up!" She whisper yelled to Raf who giggled and ran the opposite direction. ]

Arcee immediately tensed, "Arachnid!" She hissed with contempt, recognizing that voice anywhere. And yet, she paused with confusion. Unlike the usual sultry maliciousness in her voice, she sounded... genuinely playful, and soft almost. It made Arcee shiver with unease.

"Arachnid?! Miko, Raf, get out of there!" Jack urged the screen-version of his friends even though they couldn't hear him.

"Woah Jack! Raf and I are here! We're fine!" Miko soothed, though she did look concerned for her screen counterpart. But even she noticed that screen!Miko and Raf weren't really scared? They really just looked excited, of all things. But why? 

[ Miko ducked around the corner, pressing against the wall so she could catch her breath. She huffed, trying to keep herself quiet. She peeked around the corner, eyes squinting. When she spots nothing, she sighs in relief, grinning to herself before she hears a sound coming from above. She looks up and gasps, abruptly, she's snatched upwards.

Meanwhile, Raf was still running in the halls of the ship and just as he turns, he stops as he finds a familiar mech standing in the hall. "Starscream!" Raf exclaimed with delight, reaching his arms up, "Quick, hide me!" ] 

There's a cry of her name, much different from usual- panicked and scared and Miko yelps as she finds herself in Bulkhead's hands once again. The wrecker looking so very concerned for her, "Uh- Bulk? I'm fine! I'm here! I'm- screen Miko's definitely fine! Bulk?" 

Raf gave the screen a bewildered look before he too, yelped when he found himself being lifted up by Bee just like Miko. "Bumblebee!" His friend let out a protective, panicked beep, "Bee?" 

"Starscream?" Arcee repeated incredulously, having been on edge the moment screen!Miko had disappeared. "That's- that cannot be Starscream."

The Starscream on the screen's grey metal was lighter, his wings were folded downwards, there were red and blue detailing that the Starscream they knew didn't have. Not to mention he wasn't hunched over and his optics, they were blue instead of red. The most damning of all though, was the gentle look the seeker had that replaced his usually malicious and scheming expression. 

"I… believe it is." Optimus murmured with slight disbelief, watching how the young human on the screen seemed to treat that Starscream with friendly familiarity. "I do not think it is our Starscream however." 

[ "Hide you?" Starscream mused aloud, "Ah, another game, Rafael? Very well." He knelt down, letting Raf climb onto his servos and opened his cockpit, letting the human settle into the space before gently closing it. "Alright in there?" He asked with amusement and chuckled when Raf replied with a muffled 'yes!' ] 

"Definitely not our Starscream, he would never let a human into his cockpit like that." Ratchet agreed, watching the scene with a nervous tank and a boggled expression. Trying to understand what exactly was happening right now. "This… This is an alternate world." 

They all turned to the medic. "What?"

[ Pedesteps came, alongside the joined laughter of two females. The screen showed Arachnid in her root mode, toting around Miko on her shoulder, servos firmly yet carefully holding on. Miko was laughing as the spider bot jostled her two and fro. "Starscream!" Arachnid called out happily, smiling widely at the seeker. "I don't suppose you've seen Raf, have you?" 

"Hmm, Rafael?" Starscream replied with clear jest, "Perhaps…" His optics not so subtly looked down to his cockpit. Arachnid noticed and smiled mischievously. ]

Arcee was staring at the screen with warring emotions, firstmost was anger and disgust at the sight of the spider femme and then there was confusion at the sight of the fact this Arachnid was different. Not only in looks, her optics were a cyan blue instead of purplish pink, her finish was a dark yet cooler hue of blue with bronze trims instead of gold. But in personality of course, she was handling screen!Miko with obvious care despite having the human girl on her shoulder. And her voice, it was soft as silk, not sultry and had no hidden menace.

Add into the fact Starscream was being equally differnet—

It was a fragging jarring thing to witness, even through a holographic screen. Arcee felt faint. 

Ratchet, was thankfully, just as perturbed as he gestured to the screen. "This is- this is showing us a glimpse into an alternate world. One where the Decepticons are- well, that." 

[ "Now, where oh where could Raf be? He couldn't have gotten far, his legs are, unfortunately, too short." Arachnid mused slowly, snickering at the muffled 'hey!' that was heard from Starscream's cockpit. Not long an 'oops' was heard as Arachnid leaned closer to Starscream, faceplate by the cockpit. "Gotcha. Starscream, if you would?" 

"No Screamy! Take Raf and run!" Miko hollered with a laugh, squirming on Arachnid's shoulder. 

Starscream laughed, shaking his helm. "Perhaps another time, I do still have duties to fulfill. My apologies Rafael." He opened the pit and gently took the pouting tween out. It didn't last long as Arachnid took him as well, setting him to sit properly on her other shoulder unlike Miko, who hung like a sack. "Hm, that's two humans accounted for. Where is Jackson?" ] 

"Primus that is so fragging weird." Bulkhead hissed, still holding on to Miko protectively, but eventually relented when the girl squirmed and scrambled towards his shoulder. He gave in and let her sit there. 

"I know! Looks like the cons are the good guys over there! So weird!" Miko exclaimed, legs swinging as she watched herself call Starscream 'Screamy' and not get obliterated by the con. 

.: … Starscream calls Raf, Rafael like Ratchet… And calls Jack, Jackson- he sounds like a fraggin' gentlemech. :. Bumblebee whirred, scratching his helm while settling Raf on his own shoulder. He glanced over to Jack who had the same look as Arcee, staring incomprehensibly at the screen. Which was fair, the two times he met with Arachnid were horrible but here she was- different on screen in another world. 

[ "Jack's with King Con! Talking about Cybertron again." Miko huffed, wiggling in Arachnid's grip. The femme finally relented, letting the teenage girl down to the floor. She groaned, stretching her limbs. 

Starscream frowned, "Miko, you know he doesn't like being called that." 

Miko pouted, "Aw, but he's like- all wise and stuff! And he leads the Decepticons- plus, you all told us if it wasn't for Optimus and his evil Autobots, he'd be like, ruling Cybertron." 

"In charge of Cybertron, not ruling it. Never ruling it- he hates the word and thought of it." Arachnid corrected gently. "It's why he never chose a Prime name, merely shortened his gladiatorial name to Megatron. He hates being addressed by any other title aside from General." 

The scene changes to Megatron, standing at the control center with Jack on the console. Pictures of Cybertron in its golden age were on the screens, the silver mech had a gentle smile on his face as Jack looked around with wonder. ]

There's a silence in the Autobot base from the scene. "This is a world where good and evil have been switched." Optimus whispered, his usually warm stoicism broken into disbelief, optics widening as he sees such a familiar faceplate. "Megatronus…" He utters, spark aching in his chamber at the familiar-looking mech. 

He looked so much like the Megatronus he once knew, only older, slightly different but his optics were blue as can be and his servo digits weren't sharpened into claws. And that smile, when had been the last time he'd seen it? Before the council meeting? Longer? 

[ "And this… This was my home city, Kaon." Megatron told Jack as the pictures flickered to Kaon. "It was not the friendliest of capitals, far from it, it was where the ruthless tore into the weak. Kindness was rare, especially in the Pits from where I fought." 

"You mentioned that before, the Pits. It was… a gladiator arena, right?" Jack questioned as the pictures changed again. The human carefully walked along the console, aware of the bigger mech that shadowed him, as if to make sure he wouldn't fall. 

"Indeed, glad to know you've been paying attention, young one." Megatron chuckled, "It was named after the Cybertronian version of what you humans would call 'Hell', and quite honestly, it was. I struggled to survive in the Pits, but I did. I found strength, I found power, and most importantly; I found kindness." 

The human frowned, looking at him with confusion. "I thought you said it was rare?" 

"It was, but not nonexistent. Kindness exists everywhere, Jack. Even the smallest of acts might sway or influence another. Sometimes, even creating a cascade of events that escalate into something more." Megatron murmurs, sounding nostalgic, fond yet also somber. "In all the time I've lived, Jack, I've realized many things. I've realized that strength is not everything, that weakness is subjective, that kindness is not weakness and that there is a difference from being nice, to being kind." ]

Hearing this Megatron talk made Optimus feel weak. His voice was so similar, but without the roughened edge of anger-fueled war tingeing his vocals. The growl of rage and slight hint of madness. It was so gentle and warm and wise— A strange sort of feeling that permeated his processor, numbly, he could hear the quiet reactions of the others. Varying from disbelief to outright confused shock. It was understandable, they've never seen this side of Megatronus. This side of Megatron. 

Primus, his words too. 

"Scrap, he's reminding me so much of Optimus but so different, it's weird." He hears Jack mutter and there's a hesitant agreement coming from all around him. 

[ Before Megatron could continue, a warning came to the screens. Startling both of them. "Woah!" Jack almost stepped off the console, but was caught and saved by Megatron who gently settled him to the floor.

"It's a Decepticon distress signal." Megatron said tensely, "Everyone, get to the command center. Now." He said aloud and into the comms. 

It didn't take long for the other Decepticons to arrive. ]

It was bizarre, to see the line up of Decepticons in different colors and all with blue optics, with the exception of Knock Out whose optics were a darker orange here.

Breakdown looked very different, his armor was red, his optics an icy blue and his faceplate a purplish grey tint- surprisingly, he had screen!Miko on his shoulder. Trailing behind him was Knock Out, instead of a bright red finish, the medic was cyan.

Right beside them was Soundwave, who was painted in a very faint purple with light green biolights. He still had a visor covering his faceplate. 

"Woah…" Raf muttered, eyeing the Decepticons from Bee's shoulder. "It's- they all look so different, at first glance it's just the colors and even that is enough to feel- jarring?" Bee made a beep of agreement, nodding to his words.

[ "Signal Origins; Makeshift." Soundwave immediately said, a worried emoticon appearing on his visor- voice synthesized but understandable. "Location coordinates attached." 

"Makeshift? Who's that?" Raf asked as Soundwave picked him up. ]

Bee tensed at the sight of Soundwave picking screen!Raf up, .: I-I know this is supposed to be an alternate world but- :. Primus, was that Soundwave's actual voice?! 

"I know Bumblebee, it's- it's weird. Downright disturbing." Arcee agreed, still looking a bit nauseous at the sight of Arachnid, of the Decepticons alongside the humans on the screen. Even though, they seemed… good. Frag, Optimus' words echoed in her processor, 'good swapped with evil' naturally that meant… oh frag.

[ "An old friend." Knock Out said as he and Soundwave went to the console to locate the distress signal. "He's been away for a while because he wanted to explore Earth on his own. This was before the Autobots managed to follow us here."

"I ordered him to stay away after the Autobots arrived, I wanted to keep him as a hidden operative. You see, Makeshift has a unique ability, he is a Shifter, a Cybertronian capable of turning into another Cybertronian- copying their frame, their looks, even their voice. Makeshift is one of my best stealth agents." Megatron explained with a tense frown. "He is a hardy mech, for him to use a distress signal…"

"Situation; grim." Soundwave finished. 

"Starscream, prepare the groundbridge at those exact coordinates. Knock Out, Breakdown and I shall be going through." ]

[---- TFP : UO -----]

The Nemesis

"I cannot believe my other would let a human inside his pit! Inconceivable!"

"Teal? Teal? Ugh, I mean, it's not a bad look but red is so my color!" Knock Out complained to Breakdown who didn't look too impressed, though he was too busy looking at himself on the screen.

"Can't believe I've got Bulkhead's human pet as my own. Guess Arachnid was just babysitting." At the mention of her name, the spiderbot hissed at Breakdown, annoyed and perturbed by her on-screen self. So gentle, so weak- thankfully she wasn't the only one disturbed by their alternate selves.

"And there's still no information as to how this thing got on my ship? Or how it activated on its own?!" Megatron growled to Starscream and Soundwave but his optics were trained solely at the screen. Taking in just how… different he was in another universe. The implications he's gotten so far… were abhorrent. Yet intriguing. 

"N-No! Master, we have- we have no idea how either happened." 

Soundwave said nothing, but did bring up a picture of a certain text.

[ CONTINUITY SCAN 100 % COMPLETE SUBJECTS ' Raf ; Jack ; Miko ' COMPONENT ACCEPTED UNKNOWN ATTEMPTS GENERATED PASSCODE 'BORING' HAS BEEN ACCEPTED KEY WORDS ; SHATTERED GLASS ACCEPTED ]

Before showing the picture of a certain trio of human children. 

"The Autobot pet humans? Hm…"

Megatron trailed off, optics shining sharply when the screen continued.

This was… interesting to say the least.

[----- TFP : UO -----]

shattered glass designs inspired by @jealousmarquis

winged it for breakdown's colors tbh. also, i was a bit confused on knock out's color scheme from jealousmarquis' pictures, one seemed a lighter blue like teal while the other was a darker blue- for now i settled on teal with thinking maybe knock out liked changing the shades of his finish. idk.

i have no idea when the next part will come but i've definitely a few ideas on what else for team prime (and cons) to react to next! but first, gotta finish the shattered glass segment. the next one will be the last of it (for now).

EDIT 1/16/25: jealousmarquis described their sg breakdown design so i edited it accordingly.

[NEXT]

[magics-neptunes-things]

Concussion

Hi guys!

I don’t have much to say about this story, except that I hope you like it. I’m not so happy with what I’ve been writing lately to be honest, so if you have any ideas or suggestions, I’ll gladly listen.

Summary: You are injured during an international match, far too far from your girlfriend’s comforting arms.

TW: Wound, blood.

______________________________________________________________

Playing under the snow doesn’t appeal to many people, but you have always liked it. You like the idea that weather conditions make players think differently and nothing amuses you more than having to clear the ball from the snow before putting it back into play. You and your Swiss team were winning 1-0, a goal scored by Ana from the start of the match and you have managed to keep the advantage since. Especially helped by Lia’s talent in midfield. You flew with her from London, playing for Arsenal, just like her.

That’s where you met your girlfriend. Leah, despite the fact that she is still recovering from her injury, remained in England, still having to respect Sarina’s wishes. The trainer seems to want to keep her captain close to her, even injured.

After the middle of the second half, the snow falls even stronger than before. The ground is slippery for your shoes, but prevents the ball from rolling properly. This doesn't prevent Ramona from sending you a ball to allow you to run quickly near the goalkeeper of the other team. If you could score a second one, it would completely shelter you.

However, you are stopped rather abruptly in your race by another player, just when you passed the penalty zone. The tackle itself is far from mastered and throws you to the ground. Because of the snow, you find yourself sliding against the post of the opposing goal, making you inert. A silence falls on the football stadium and you don't feel when the opposing goalkeeper roll you on the back. When you regain consciousness, you see the faces of your national team healers leaning over you.

"She is awake" one of them launches in Swiss-German, provoking sighs and exclamations of relief around you.

For your part, you are confused. Your whole body hurts and you have trouble concentrating. The snow failing on your face is cold, but it help your headache.

"Leah" you whisper, before closing your eyes when they put a flashlight in front of them.

"She’s right there Love" a female voice answers before calling her.

When you see Lia appear in your field of vision, you understand the misunderstanding. What an idea to have chosen a girlfriend and a best friend with a similar name. Lia doesn’t need you to talk to her to understand, and you're glad. She send you a little smile. The pain in your head is appalling and keeps you from concentrating.

"It’s going to be okay" Lia gently kneels beside you to take your hand in hers.

In the ocean of pain in which you find yourself, this affectionate gesture is rather pleasant. You close your eyes and let it happen when you are put on the stretcher, launching you lulled by the movements that take you to the infirmary.

"Don't fall asleep" makes you one of the healer, but you can do nothing but release a moan for any answer.

Leah’s face floats in your mind as you darken again, seeking relief from the various pains you have. You regain consciousness in the ambulance but you quickly find yourself nauseous. It only takes a few minutes for what you ate during the day to end up in a basin next to your bed.

********

On Leah Williamson’s side, we went into panic mode. She followed your match thanks to her mobile phone and the different streaming offered on the Internet. She quickly knew it was bad when she saw you weren’t getting up. After thinking for a few moments, she left the stadium to jump on the first plane that could take her to you. Still in her coat with the Arsenal logo, she made as fast as possible to reach you, kept informed of your health by your family and Lia.

She came to pick her up at the airport with her car, trying her best to calm your girlfriend. It's in the early morning that Leah can finally be at your side, far too long to her taste. On your side you have to admit that you saw nothing, having been sleeping all along. Your concussion is bad and you’re just going to have to watch your teammates for the next game and probably miss the next Arenal's game. But it could have been much worse.

When the blonde walks into your room, you’re asleep. Her gaze slips on the different machines that are attached to you, frowning. She recognizes the one that measures your heart rate, the one that sends you regular doses of morphine. But her beautiful blue eyes end up running through your face and her heart tightens. In addition to your concussion, you have a impressive cuckold and we had to sew your eyebrow.

"How is she?" Leah asks to the nurse next to her.

"She was feeling nauseous when she arrives here, but it looks like everything is fine now. She’s a little confused as well. When she woke up earlier, she had trouble remembering what had happened. She was convinced she was in London to have appendix surgery."

"She had her appendix removed urgently two years ago" Leah mutters as she looks at you.

The nurse nods thoughtfully and informs Leah and Lia that you need to rest now, before slowly leaving the room. Noticing that her friend seems panicked again, Lia gently puts a hand on her shoulder.

"She went back two years, confusing hospitals. What if she doesn’t recognize me when she wakes up? Or that she forgets we’re together?"

Offering light pressure on Leah’s shoulder, Lia gently shakes her head with a small smile.

"She’s just a little confused. It will be ok, I’m sure."

Lia having been informed that only the family can stay overnight, she in turn leaves your room quietly. Sighing softly, Leah settles down next to you. Being both afraid to wake you or to hurt you, she decides instead to press her face on her two, placed on the edge of your mattress.

When you wake up a few hours later, you are relieved to see that someone has thought about turning off the light from the ceiling of the room. You quickly understand where you are but you have trouble knowing what time it is. Outside, it's not yet day but given the season it could still be 7 hours past. Feeling your head still numb, you prefer to close your eyes for a few more moments. It’s only when you move your hand slightly that you touch Leah’s arm.

Mechanically, you open your eyes and look in this direction, remaining surprised by discovering your girlfriend deeply asleep at your side. Contrary to her habit when she is asleep, Leah’s face is far from relaxed. Her famous frown is still present on her face. Gently raising your hand, you caress her face, applying yourself to erase it. You take the opportunity to put a lock of her hair behind her ear too, clearing her face. You didn’t want to wake her up, but she finally moved slowly and opened her eyes.

"Hi" you do say quietly as you watch her waking up. "How are you feeling?" Leah asked, standing up, wincing as she felt her neck hurt. "Confused. What are you doing here?" "What... what do you mean?" Before falling asleep, Leah let her mind wander perhaps a little too long. Despite Lia’s reinsurance attempts, she has long imagined the different scenarios you would face if you ever forgot what had happened between you over the past two years. As if it were possible. "Aren’t you supposed to be in London?" You ask before you add when you see her getting paler than before "I’m glad you’re here, but you were at Wembley last night? No?" Leah doesn’t answer, seemingly completely lost. Which has the effect of losing you even more. You let it go for a few seconds before you say timidly. "Leah?" "Do you remember me?" mumbles Leah without looking at you. "What the... I don’t understand anything" you moan, softly massaging your temple. "Why would you want me not to remember you?" "The nurse said you were mixing today with your hospitalization two years ago" Leah’s tone is still very low and you are finally starting to understand what can happen in her mind (a little twisted, let’s face it). She let you take her hand in yours, but didn't raise her eyes on you. "I know who you are. You are Leah Williamson, Captain of the England Team, European Champion and my little lovely Muffin" Leah hates that nickname, which you’re only allowed to use when you’re alone. But for once she seems happy to hear you use it, lifting up on you a look where hope and relief blend perfectly. "Can I have a kiss now?"

A big smile on her face, Leah leans over you to kiss you tenderly. If you had been with all your abilities, you would certainly have pulled her onto the bed to squeeze her against you. But that conversation alone seems to have exhausted you and you willingly sink into the cushions after that.

"Do you have pain somewhere?" asks Leah nicely

You shake your head negatively before bitterly regretting your gesture. The grimace of pain that appears on your face doesn't escape Leah who doesn't even ask your opinion before calling the nurses. Outside, the sky finally seems to clear and the clock in front of your bed informs you that it is indeed around eight in the morning.

After a full check-up, the nurse straightens the head of your mattress and informs you that she will bring you breakfast. You’re pouting, not really hungry. But she insisted that you should eat something and it didn’t fall on deaf ears. As soon as your tray arrived, Leah asks you what you want to eat.

"I’m not hungry" you mumble, frowning.

But Leah being known for her determination leaves you no choice. You end up opting for yogurt, leaving bread and jam aside. It's with Leah installed at the feet of your bed, feeding you with a spoon, that your parents find you when they come to visit you.

********

A week later, you were allowed to go home to London. Despite your headache that sometimes persists, you are much better and you no longer have dizziness or nausea. Leah stayed with you every second, making sure you weren’t hungry, hurt, or thirsty. The blonde may have been a little excessive, but since you were allowed extra hugs, you never complained.

Set up in your plane seats, which Leah chose in first class despite your protests, you let yourself go against her. You have two hours of flight left and since you have no screen for another two days, you intend to enjoy having Leah just for you a little more. You know that in London, you will find your daily routine back. You’re not allowed to resume training, but Leah still follows them, even at her own pace.

"I’m glad we can go home" Leah say thoughtfully while looking at the window.

"Switzerland isn’t good enough for you, Williamson?" you pretend to be offended.

Leah laughs softly and lays a kiss on your hair.

"No, I love it. What I meant by that is that I’m glad that this story is behind us. I was fucking scared."

You just hum, playing with her fingers. You finally learned that the blonde jumped on the first plane possible, renting a jet to make sure to come to you quickly. You already had scolded her about spending so much money for so little, but then you got scolded back, Leah claiming she would die of anguish if she stayed away from you under these circumstances. You didn’t object to that.

"I know I’m an ass sometimes, with my dirty temper and all, but I really love you"

You smile this time, raising your face in her direction. It’s been a little less than two years since you started dating but you were around each other for several months before that. You took your time, preferring to be sure before trying. And it worked pretty well for you.

"I know that your character is only a shell and that inside you are as tender as a marshmallow"

"Shh, somebody might hear you" Leah frown, putting a finger on your lips.

Her face quickly cracks with an amused smile when you pretend to bite her finger.

"Behave yourself" Leah maliciously mumble before putting a kiss on your lips.

She puts her arm around your shoulders to hug you again and you willingly let her take you in her arms. Her scratching in your hair has the hidden purpose of putting you to sleep, and no matter how long you struggle, you end up sleeping peacefully in her arms.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won't let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: surprise double chapters!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You lay in the dim glow of your laptop, the screen saver swooshing back and forth, giving light to the dark. You’re limned it its idleness, in a similarly inert state. You blink, eyes dry and raw, your head pounding. Your back and shoulder pang with your inactivity as you lay on your stomach, neck twisted to one side.

Your vision is static and fuzzy, the air humming. You groan and drag an arm up, the effort alone like lifting a boulder. The world is distant and desolate. There is nothing beyond those four walls.

A chime comes from your laptop. You stare at the curtain, darkness along the borders. It’s night time already. Or again. You don’t know. You lost count of the hours, rather, days.

You roll over and peer at the abyss above. The ceiling is similarly shrouded in shadows, the corners clustered with darkness. Your head spins at the effort of your movement. Your tongue is starchy and sticky from neglect. You cough and sit up, nearly falling back against your pillow.

You don’t want to be awake. It’s so much easier to sleep. Nothing makes sense in your dreams but everything is awful in real life.

You push yourself to the edge of the bed and reach for the plastic cup of stagnant water. You sip from the brim and a slam brings you back into focus. Your hand shakes and you clack the cup back on the table, turning to watch the wall as chaos erupts on the other side.

“Goddamn, Irene, get off of me. I ain’t tellin’ ya again,” the holler rolls through like thunder. “Fuckin’ skank.”

Your eyes round as your ears ring. You cover them and back up to cower against the headboard. Your lip trembles as you hear a crash followed by the shatter of glass.

“We were having fun, sweetheart,” your mother’s desperate yawl comes over the patter of her feet, “don’t go so soon, please, baby.”

“Why you actin’ like a goddamn whore?” The man snarls and you hear your mother whimper. You sniffle as you fold yourself up and push your chin down against your knee, shielding your head as if it’s you taking the blow.

“I--” your mother snivels, “I just wanna love you, hon.”

You close your eyes. Lee huffs and stomps past your door, his shadow flickering beneath. He’s just another in a line of men your mother brings around; each one as angry as the last. It always starts the same; at first, they’re nice, then you hear how they change.

“I’m too damn tired and it’s too damn late. I’ll be back when you get your head screwed on,” he retorts and hits the wall, making you jump again as the springs of your bed squeak. “And you’re a goddamn mother... should know better...”

You crouch in fear, locked up as you listen through the wall. You hear him moving around as your mother begs him to stay. You press your hands to your ears so you can’t make out her words. The front door of the apartment snaps shut and quaver out a breath.

You wait until you hear your mother retreat, herself crying, and the clink of a glass comes shortly after. You wipe your face and lift your head slowly. You won’t be able to sleep, not with your heart racing like this.

It takes all your strength to crawl across the bed and put your feet to the floor. Your stench clings to your unwashed clothes. You haven’t changed in a couple days at least. You can barely remember the last time you left your room.

You sit down in front of your computer. The metal seat of the folding chair is hard and cold, even through your pants. You squiggle your fingers over the touchpad of the outdated laptop, as thick as a book.

The screen wakes up and you key in your passcode with one finger. The wallpaper comes up, the colours stinging your eyes, and you squint as you adjust to the glare. You tap on the envelope icon to open your inbox.

At least a dozen unread emails clutter the folder. Reminders and notifications automated by your obligations and inactivity. You scroll through and delete the messages telling you to submit your assignment and noting several missed tests. At the very top, the latest of the bunch, is from a person.

Your heart sinks as you see the name and the subject line. Professor Raymond Smith, Attn: Overdue Work. God. You clutch your head and your eyes tinge once more. You don’t have enough moisture to summon any more tears. Your head pulses and your eyes itch but you can’t cry.

You shudder and make yourself look at the screen. You hover your hand over the mousepad and make yourself tap. Just one quick touch and the message opens.

The professor greets you by name. You want to dissolve into nothing. It’s easy to just be a student number on a screen but now he picks you out of the bunch and you know exactly why. You haven’t logged into the learning site in a week or more. You haven’t been able to make yourself.

‘It has come to my notice that your last tasks have gone unsubmitted. As your instructor, I am obligated to check in to see whether I can expect these assignments to be submitted for grading. As well, I would offer any support necessary for you to do so.

Please respond to this email at your convenience so we might rectify this situation. You may also schedule a meeting through my calendar linked in my signature.

Best Regards,

Professor Smith’

You cringe. How do you explain to him that this always happens? That you’re just a failure?

This was supposed to be different, but just like everything, you blew it. You thought that you could make this work. You remember the day you got your acceptance; the program is manageable and you can do it all online. You thought you were getting better but your mom stopped refilling your script and you stopped caring.

You sit, blindly staring at the screen. For an hour, maybe more, caught between shame and sadness. You can’t just run away from another thing. You take a breath and raise your hands over the keyboard. It’s just letters on a screen.

Hi

Dear Pro

Hello Professor

I apologize for not submitting my work. I will not be able to complete this course due to mental health personal reasons.

Thank you.

You read and re-read. You guess it’s good enough? You don’t know. Whatever. Just another poor excuse.

You hit send and you peek at the time. You look at the original email. It’s a bit strange the instructor would email that late. You delete the email and go back to bed, hiding under the blanket. Typical, just another stupid idea.

📓

Your head throbs as you wake up. You’ve slept too much. Nothing different than usual but you haven’t left bed for more than a couple minutes at a time. Your skull feels ready to cave in and swells with each movement.

You get up, stumbling as you find your bearings, shuffling to your door and into the hall. You go into the bathroom. It’s a mess, like usual. Your mother’s clothes are on the floor and a man’s razor is on the edge of the sink. Is he here again?

You relieve yourself and flush, washing your hands then your face. You should probably shower while you’re in there. You lift your arm and confirm the need. You stink and your clothes are damp with your sweat.

You undress and crank on the faucet. You step into the grimy booth behind the counter as the water splashes down cold and slowly warms in the whining pipes. You shiver and let it cleanse you as much as it can.

You squeeze out some of the discount soap that smells like a hospital and scrub yourself as the air steams around you. You hear an odd creak then the plastic of the toilet seat hitting the porcelain tank. What the heck?

You grab the edge of the curtain and peek around it, smearing lather along the plastic. It’s opaque enough to blue your silhouette but not completely hide you. That man, Lee, belches as he holds his dick and pisses. He looks over and smirks.

“Ah, sorry, darling, didn’t know you were in here,” he chuckles and turns straight, leaning to brace the wall as he sighs, “goddamn, my balls are tight.”

You pop back behind the curtain and grimace. Ew. It’s not the first time you’ve had an awkward run in with one of your mother’s suitors, for lack of a better term, but no less jarring than any other. You shut off the water and back up, reaching past the other end of the curtain to grab the towel.

Something closes around your wrist and has you yelping. You cling to the curtain, staying behind it as Lee tugs on you.

“Don’t needa be shy, darlin’,” he tries to drag you out, “doubt it’s much different than your mama.”

You try to yank back but he’s too strong. You slip and barely save yourself as you grab onto the towel bar. You cry out, “let go! Please!”

He squeezes and you wince, pressed against the curtain as your knees buckle. Your soles are slippery on the wet tile. You whine and whimper, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s a knock at the door and he lets you go. You quickly pull free the towel and hide in the shower to wrap your body in it. You don’t think it’s clean.

“Everything okay?” The door groans with your mother’s entry.

“Ah, I’m just tryna piss and your daughter’s making all sorts of fuss,” he scoffs and flushes the toilet, “like she ain’t never seen a real man before.”

“Oh, Lee, you shoulda let her finish--”

“What’s the big deal, she was in the shower,” he deflects, “you know I ain’t her for that brat.”

You pant and lean against the wall, veins coursing with adrenaline. Your mother grumbles as they leave. You feel the draught of the open door and warily sidle out from behind the curtain. You gather your clothes and check that the coast is clear and find your way back to your room.

You pull on a fresh hoodie and your least dirty pair of sweats. You need to do laundry desperately. You need to do a lot of things. Your computer bings as if to agree with that sentiment.

You sit down at the table and stare at your laptop. The folding plastic thing has barely enough room for that and your notebook. You sigh. All you do is sigh. Everything is just a disappointment. You have nothing but trash around you and you fit right in.

You open the lid and login. You could watch that play through of the new fantasy game you can’t afford. Or you just break that damn thing. You have an email.

You don’t click on it right away. Instead, you scroll through a subreddit on an obscure television show you streamed on Youtube. All the posts are years old and the place is dead. If you’re good at anything, it’s avoidance.

Finally, your anxiety knots tight enough for you to do something. You close your browser and open Outlook. You make a strange noise as you see the response to the email you sent days ago. Or by your estimation. You scratch your neck until the skin burns.

You work at deleting the spam from your inbox before you’re forced to face the Re:

You click and read with trepidation. Again, the professor addresses you by name.

‘I understand that you are dealing with personal obligations. Considering how far we are in this course, I would like to allow you the opportunity to complete it successfully. If the current workload is too much, we can discuss alternatives to meet the learning objectives.

I would prefer that we have this conversation face-to-face. If you would like explore your options, please use the link below to meet with me on Tuesday at noon. Please confirm here and I look forward to meeting and speaking with you then.

Also let me know if I can do anything else.

Professor Smith’

You want to melt into nothing. You want to evaporate from existence. You want to just keel over and die. How embarrassing!

You want to delete it a forget. You want to say now and through everything away. You want to go back to how you’ve always been. You want to be a slug in the dirt. You want to stop hoping because it only ever ends like this.

But you can’t. You hit the trash button but then you can’t help but stretch your fingertips between CTRL and Z. The message reappears and you read it again and again and again. It feels like this is the moment. This is the big decision you make; is your life always going to be like this or are you going to try?

You hit reply.

‘Thank you, Professor Smith. I will meet you on Tuesday. I appreciate your understanding and I will do better.’

Your eyes blur as you move the cursor over the little arrow. You take a breath and tap your fingertips. That’s that, then.

[aventurineswife]

You’ve probably gotten plenty of asks starting with “Hear me out,” but like, hear me out. 😆

Reader and one (or more) of the Stellaron Hunters trying to give Sesame Cake a bath.

As you can imagine, it probably goes very poorly. 🤣

(Also, I think I saw a post while scrolling calling Sesame Cake one of those orange cats. At the very least, Sesame certainly looks like he has the brain cell of an orange! Absolutely nothing behind those eyes. 😂)

A Cake-Cat’s Revolution

Summary: You and Kafka engage in a light-hearted experiment with an eccentric creature known as Shader Cat, a hybrid of a cat and a cake. After attempting to bathe the creature, it escapes and causes a bit of chaos, eventually settling in Kafka's lap.

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Humor, Whimsy, Mischief, Absurdity, Lighthearted, Surreal, Creature Interaction, Unpredictability.

The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the plush sofa where Kafka lounged, looking every bit the epitome of cool detachment and calculated elegance. She leaned back against a set of cushions, arms crossed, the dark pince-nez perched playfully atop her head, her hair cascading into a messy ponytail. Meanwhile, you stood before her, holding the enigmatic purple creature known as Shader Cat — a whimsical combination of a cat and a cake, with its spider-web patterns and sunglasses.

"Why are we doing this, again?" Kafka inquired, a slight air of bemusement tinging her otherwise smooth voice.

You cleared your throat, attempting to keep the situation under control. "I thought it might be… fun?" you said, though the conviction in your voice sounded more like a question than a statement.

Kafka raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes scanning the bundle of confusion in your arms. "Fun," she echoed, and you noticed the slight curl of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I suppose it might be an interesting test of patience."

With a deep breath, you gently set Shader Cat down in the bathtub. The creature blinked lazily, large eyes staring blankly up at the overhead showerhead. Its tail flicked once, then settled back into an inert state.

"Alright," you said, adopting a tone of forced optimism, "Let’s start with some warm water. A bath always does wonders for the stress."

Kafka leaned back further, crossing one ankle over the other. "I’m intrigued," she said, "Let’s see how long it takes before it starts plotting a rebellion against us."

You turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature of the water. Meanwhile, Kafka watched with detached interest, sipping an invisible drink that existed only in the aura of her calm demeanor. You carefully stepped aside to grab some soap and shampoo, leaving Shader Cat to its own devices — or, so you thought.

It was just as you reached for the shampoo that you heard a soft rustle behind you. When you turned back, the air seemed to shift, and you found yourself facing a small, purple blur. Shader Cat had apparently decided to make a break for it, its striped tail whipping wildly as it hopped out of the tub in a clumsy rush.

"Oh, no," you said, half-amused and half-worried, as the creature skittered towards the living room, narrowly avoiding the coffee table.

Kafka watched in bemusement, the glassy look in her eyes shifting slightly. "I believe it’s… escaping," she observed.

"I noticed," you said, as Shader Cat continued its flight, careening into the couch, then under a nearby armchair.

You scrambled to catch it, but it was surprisingly fast for a cake-cat hybrid. "Come back, Shader Cat," you pleaded, but it seemed intent on proving just how little interest it had in the bath.

"Remarkable," Kafka said dryly, watching with a hint of amusement in her eyes. "It seems quite… defiant for a dessert-like creature."

"Yeah, it really does," you said, a slight tinge of frustration creeping into your voice. "I didn’t know they could move that fast!"

Suddenly, the creature paused for a moment, as if considering its next move. With a sudden leap, it pounced onto the couch — right onto Kafka’s lap.

Kafka’s face remained a mask of calm, but you could detect the slightest twitch of surprise in her eyes. The Shader Cat settled down, curling up in her lap, the sunglasses slightly askew, as if it was making a statement.

"Well," Kafka said, looking down at the cat, "It seems to have found its new resting place."

You could only nod, a mixture of amusement and disbelief settling in. "I… I think that’s probably the best it’s going to get," you said, still holding back a chuckle.

Kafka reached out to pet Shader Cat’s top, and the creature gave a small, nonchalant purr — or, rather, an effort to emit a sound that might be construed as a purr.

"It’s… oddly charming," Kafka said, half-rolling her eyes. "Almost like it has no idea of what’s happening in the universe — or, perhaps, it just doesn’t care."

You nodded, finally able to accept the situation. "Yeah," you said, letting out a soft laugh, "That’s probably a good way to put it."

Kafka leaned back into the couch, Shader Cat still comfortably nestled in her lap. "I must say," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, "You were right. This was certainly… interesting."

"I’ll take that as a win," you replied, relieved that the mishap was finally over.

As the two of you sat there, watching the peculiar creature bask in its unexpected triumph, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps, in the most Kafkaesque way, everything had turned out perfectly after all.